The PotterMalfoy Coffee Table
by vinterdrog
Summary: Being a coffee table IS that much of a deal!


Being a coffee table wasn't much of a deal. Normally it wasn't very different from being a dining table, or for that sake, a nightstand. Or why not a hall bureau? Well, normally there wasn't any difference, except the different objects on it, and that the coffee table often had to deal with dirty feet.

Being the Potter-Malfoy (or Malfoy-Potter, if you prefer that) coffee table _was_ much of a deal.

The Potter-Malfoy coffee table had its place in the living room of the Potter-Malfoy flat, as most coffee tables

have. There was nothing wrong with the living room itself, not at all; it was a very beautiful room with light blue walls, indigo coloured sofas and the rest of the furniture white. Really, it was beautiful. In the middle of the room, right in front of a three-seated sofa, on a dark red fluffy carpet, was the Potter-Malfoy coffee table placed. A normal position for a coffee table, right? And there was nothing wrong with the position. The Potter-Malfoy coffee table could spend its spare time watching the sun rise and set, it could listen to the roar of the fire, it could have a look at the shy, handsome bookshelf in the corner of the room, and it could have long discussions with the carpet whether the owners of the flat (Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy) should install floor heating or continue to use the fire and the standard heating elements (the carpet thought it would get too hot with floor heating, while the Potter-Malfoy coffee table had very cold legs and feet). But that was on its spare time. Spare time was rare for a coffee table in the living room of the Potter-Malfoy flat. Very rare.

Once one of the owners, Harry Potter, had managed to kill The Evil and Save The World and everything, he had settled down in the flat and started to study from a distance to become God-Knew-What. And since the sofa was the nicest place to sit on, the Potter-Malfoy coffee table naturally became the study place of Harry Potter's. There were days when the Potter-Malfoy coffee table didn't bother at all. Days when Harry Potter didn't have so much to do and spent most of the day sitting in the sofa just reading a book. Then there were days when the Potter-Malfoy coffee table desperately longed for his owners to buy a proper desk. Days when Harry Potter studied for a big test and burdened the poor Potter-Malfoy coffee table with tons of books and millions of coffee cups with dripping coffee that left ugly marks on the white surface. Days when it longed for its other owner, Draco Malfoy, to come home from his work and save his boyfriend (and his coffee table) from the tons of books and millions of coffee cups. Then they would have dinner, on their coffee table, naturally, and leave more ugly marks on the white surface from the taco, pizza, chilli con carne or whatever was served that night. The Potter-Malfoy couple always had dinner on their coffee table. It was only on very rare occasions, like birthdays and holidays, they would have dinner somewhere else. Outside, the Potter-Malfoy coffee table assumed, since a dining table didn't seem to exist in the Potter-Malfoy flat. But at the same time there probably existed one _somewhere_, because whenever the Potter-Malfoy couple were having guests, they didn't eat by their coffee table, and thank God for that.

The Potter-Malfoy coffee table hated guests. It really did. Especially the Weasley couple. The red-haired Ron, the brown-haired Hermione, and their oh-so-horrible red-haired ugly child. The Potter-Malfoy coffee table hated children. They had greasy fingers, they drooled, and this ugly child used to slam her pieces of Lego in the not-so-anymore smooth surface and leave marks that were uglier than dry coffee.

The Potter-Malfoy coffee table hated the nights. Nights after a quiet dinner alone or nights after a bunch of guests, it didn't matter. The Potter-Malfoy couple would always have at least one shag on their coffee table. The poor Potter-Malfoy coffee table wondered to itself how many mind-blowing orgasms one could have on a coffee table before one gets a sore bottom. It had lost count on one-thousand-thirty-seven, and now it only wondered when its owners would begin to shag in their bed like normal human beings. The shagging seemed to have reduced though, since Ron Weasley had made a comment about how unusually wobbly the legs of the coffee table were, considering it wasn't _that_ long ago they had bought it.

Yes, the Potter-Malfoy hated children, and it hated shagging-sessions. But, as it used to think to itself during an extra hard shag, or when the ugly Weasley child was extra cranky and would slam the Lego pieces extra hard on the table, it could have been worse. The walls could have been bright pink.


End file.
